Suffering is a Bitter Reality
by BoneDaddyAinz
Summary: Underneath the titles and praise of the Arisen is just a poor fisher from a small village. He has the weight of the world on his shoulders and carries the trauma of Bitterblack Isle alone, but how much can one man take before he breaks down? His childhood friend is there to lend a shoulder but he's changed and it will be hard to open that shell of a man.


** "**_**The memory of him leaving the village, so bright-eyed and eager to help, laughing joyously as he left the safety of the walls of Cassardis. That memory will forever be imprinted into her mind, at the time she thought she might never see him again, she always hated that thought but it was true. The journey, his quest to slay the dragon was so tremendously dangerous that no matter how much she perished the thought, it would always loom over her and persist in her dreams. However… things have changed, and not just with the world around them, but with him as well for he has seemingly survived all trials set forth against him. Our hero, the prophesized savior of Gransys, the Arisen, he has changed and yet no one seems to notice, or if they do, they simply do not care. But I noticed, for to me he was more than just a hero to put on a pedestal, he was my best friend since childhood and more than that, he, Cyrus, was the love of my life. While I was not so naïve as to believe that Cyrus would never change on his journey, it would be treacherous, it would be difficult, and he would face insurmountable odds, but during our last few meetings, I noticed that despite his cheery expressions, he's becoming colder and more calloused each time. There's something great nagging at him from within, pulling at his soul and yet I am not sure how to approach it. It doesn't help that he's been gone for quite a while now, he tries to visit the monastery every other week and usually has business with the mother, but its been at least a month since I last saw him or heard anything about him. I dare say I fear the worst, but I most not succumb to such dreadful thoughts. I will-"**_

"Quina! I've been trying to call your name for the past minute!" Quina turned her head from her diary, to see Sister Christa standing in the doorway to her room.

"Oh, I dearly apologize sister, I was simply too caught up in my writing. What can I help with?"

Christa snorted, "Its nothing for me, but the Arisen is here. I figured you'd want to talk with your Cassardis boy again. "

Quina's face turned to one of shock before she squealed and ran past Christa, her footsteps thudding against the dirt as she ran from their boarding house to the monastery. '_It has been so long since I last saw him! I can't wait to talk and recount what has happened in our lives! I have so much to tell him!'_ She slowed as she approached the doors of the monastery, she calmed herself and pushed open the doors. A gust of wind following suite and lightly stirring the stale air inside the room, but what she saw placed an uncurable doubt in her gut. The last time she had seen Cyrus, his armor had given the aura of a knight, if a bit more extravagant. His had been enchanted and given off the most beautiful shine and glow she'd ever seen, it was a work of art in its own right, and his pawns at the time also held an air of gallantry, not just in their armor and weapons, but in their confidence. But the man in front of her, she couldn't believe it would be the same man, for the man in front of her, he scared her.

His armor gave off no knightly impression, it was dark and foreboding, almost entirely made up of dark crimson plates and metal darker than the void. Where he once worse a clean and pristine red cape that flowed through the air so majestically, now rested a dark and grimy that was torn and shredded at the base. He was faced away from her, but all she could see was four snake-like spikes curling up from the rim of the helmet. She so dearly hoped that the man under that helmet wasn't her dear Cyrus, but she knew she was deluding herself. It had to be him; the others even referred to him as Arisen, and despite this, she so desperately wished that Cyrus had not fallen so far. It was more than just the armor, the feeling she got when looking at him was almost horrifying and it seemed that the other sisters had similar feelings. It felt dark and tense in the monastery, and even the sun's bright glimmer shining through the windows couldn't help this oppressive atmosphere.

The Reverend Mother's voice cut her out of her stupor, "- please Arisen, you've traveled so far. Rest your weary soul here a while, we may be small but I can provide a filling meal and I'm sure your companion would also enjoy the break." It was at this point that Quina noticed that someone else was there as well, it was Cyrus's pawn, Olvar. He stood off to the side, resting against the wall, but it was peculiar, normally Cyrus traveled with several pawns at once, but now he was only with Olvar. Perhaps he had no need for them or was simply giving them a break?

"I believe I will take you up on that offer Mother, thank you," It was unmistakably the voice of Cyrus, but it was distant, almost emotionless, and deeply troubled. He turned and began to step back through the monastery, his only other actions being a curt nod and a briefly spoken "Quina" as he passed by her. She would have to find him later when they were both free, for she could not simply leave this change unspoken, she had so much she wanted to say, so much she had to say, her deepest worry being that perhaps Cyrus had changed far beyond what she could give.

* * *

He sat on the steps leading up to the monetary courtyard, enjoying the cooling breeze that blew by and watching as nature continued as if there was no threat to the world. It was refreshing to see such ignorance, such bliss, however it was just as likely that all of nature knew of the impending peril but simply didn't bring itself to be concerned. Regardless, the serenity that these animals lived in was a refreshing change of pace from the constant worry and endless requests that humanity had. Especially since this had been his truly first time to rest since he returned from Bitter Black Isle, that god damn awful Isle. He had not even the slightest clue of how long he had spent there, it had felt like ages as he dragged his way through that dungeon at a snail's pace. Briefly returning to the surface for Olra to bless an item or refill his meager rations with the little she could conjure up from Barroch. When he had defeated Daimon, truly defeated him through both of his monstrous forms, the veil surrounding the Isle had been lifted and he had been free to return to Gransys, for he had tried many times to return but as soon as he'd near the edge there would be this tug within him forcing him to stay. Something much deeper than a physical grasping, the scar of the Arisen bound him to this place as he had so many other Arisen before him.

When he had returned, the people of the village told him that he'd only been gone for a couple weeks, maybe two and a half at the most, but he knew that wasn't true. Olra told him early on that the Isle was beyond the realm of reality, almost in between the planes of existence for it beckoned to any and all Arisen, but more importantly that time was not a construct that worked as it had back in Gransys, time on the Isle was not fixed. He suspected that he had spent at least a few months on the Isle, although if he was being completely honest with himself, he had lost track of many things towards the end of his journey, relying almost pure only on instinct and his will to survive, although even that was fading towards the end. His return to Gransys was not exactly as refreshing as he hoped it would. For it had been so long since he'd been able to have a true conversation with someone, there is only so much one can talk about with his companions when trapped in a dungeon for months on end. As soon as he returned, he had barely set his feet upon the grass of the land before he was given a pile of urgent tasks that had piled up. Once again, he was on the move all over Gransys and now here he was, taking an urgent delivery from the Duke and Bishop in Gran Soren to the monastery for the Reverend Mother. He had not expected such a kindness to be offered to him, even something as simple as rest was a blessing to him now. So often the people saw him as an insoluble hero, placing all their hopes and worries upon is back but there's only such much one can do before it starts to weigh down. He was generally never offered such a kindness for his own wellbeing; it was a refreshing change of pace from gold or an odd trinket or two.

He heard footsteps behind him, but he felt no need to turn. Arisens could always feel the connection to their pawn, but more so, spending so long with Olvar and straining his hears in the Isle, he could tell it was him by his walk alone. That and unless the sisters here were truly unique, he felt confident that the sound of a longbow clacking against serrated daggers was exclusive to his companion.

"Is anything troubling you master?"

"That seems like a loaded question, but for now no, I'm just thinking and taking in the serenity. Being able to relax with such fresh air is something I won't take for granted again." Inhaling deeply as if to emphasize the point.

"Yes, I believe I understand, even here, so far away form that accursed place I can feel it weighing down like an ever-oppressing force. I fear it will take some time for that feeling to dissipate," Cyrus nodded in agreement and sighed.

"Olvar we're here for at least for a day or so, maybe more depending on the weather. But for now, I want you to rest, if you grow bored or desire something to do, ask the reverend mother and give your assistance where you can." Olvar nodded but stayed for a bit longer, perhaps after the nightmare they'd lived he was starting to appreciate beauty in the world?

"I know it is not my place to say, nor do I completely grasp the turmoil of your emotions but speak to Quina. She clearly cares for you and would have been deathly afraid of your absence. Talking to her may help, it shan't be good if you continue to steel yourself against the pain you feel, especially when we still have one final obstacle ahead of us that will take all of our resolve." He spared a quick glance to Cyrus before walking off to see what assistance he could offer.

Now offered the possibility of being able to truly talk with someone, he was unsure. Beyond unsure, perhaps he was even scared. He had no secrets really, nothing so awful that he couldn't entrust to tell anyone, but he was more worried about his emotions if he became too comfortable. He had no farcical delusions about some macho bullshit, he knew his weakness and he was not afraid to admit them, but he was the Arisen. A beacon of hope that people looked too in times of crisis, its why he tried to help people no matter how ridiculous the request, but this hope came from the belief that he was an unshakable hero that let nothing bother him. What would happen if they knew about his turmoil, his uncertainty, his fears? They wouldn't respect him, they'd lose hope and begin to succumb to fear, he would continue to persevere. When all was said and done, then…then perhaps there could be changes.

* * *

She never had the chance to see him that day, their schedules kept them apart and she was nervous about talking to him. The few times she had seen him, Cyrus was always sitting on the steps in the courtyard, looking deep in thought, perhaps a bit despondent. Something had happened and she needed to know what, but at the same time, she was afraid to know. Afraid to know what happened that turned Cyrus from his always cheerful demeanor to the man sitting and staring for hours on end.

Walking through the halls and finishing up her chores, she noticed a light outside as she passed by a window. Someone still outside at this time of night? It would most likely be Olvar or Cyrus. She walked to the nearest exit but hesitated, this would be a good a time as any to talk if it did end of being Cyrus, but would he even open up? Was she ready for what he might say? No, no she couldn't think like that, she couldn't care so much about him to simply leave him alone at this point now, she couldn't leave him to suffer in his emotions alone. She pushed open the door and walked towards the light, praying to whichever god was listening that it was Cyrus. She turned the corner and saw him sitting in the middle of the courtyard, lantern by his side as he stared up to the heavens. He must have heard her coming but he didn't turn to acknowledge her presence, not even when she sat down beside him.

She craned her head up to see the same stars he was and asked, "Isn't it a bit cold outside? You've been out here all day; don't you want to come inside?"

There was a moment of silence before he spoke, "I…I prefer to stay outside for now."

"Where are the rest of your companions? You had the same two for a while now, why send them back now?

Another moment of silence, "I decided they should have a break, and with most of my past week consisting of being a glorified errand boy, I didn't really see a need for them." This was getting no where and she knew it. If she kept asking simple questions, she'd get simple answers in return. If she wanted an answer, she couldn't jump around it like a ballerina.

"What happened to you? You've been gone for almost a month and now that you're back you're different. Please tell me Cyrus, we've known each other ever since we were children in Cassardis. Something's bothering you, I'm here for you to let it all out."

He turned his head to look at her, and it was here that she realized that she hadn't seen his face and for what should have only been a difference of a couple weeks since she last saw him, he had changed so much. Not only did his eyes lose the last spark of light they had, they had aged so much, and his hair had grown long and disheveled. Perhaps worst of all, a myriad of scars adorned his once fair face, each one looking more vicious and painful then the last, the pain he must have endured. There was one that she simply couldn't grasp, it seemed to wrap around his entire neck, it simply wasn't feasible that he was still alive with something like that. He turned back to the stars; his voice so soft that it barely carried across the breeze like a feather riding the current.

"I…I sailed away from Gransys for a time. A woman, her name was Olra, a sweet little thing, I think you would have gotten along with her. She had a request for me, go to an island by the fitting moniker of Bitterblack Isle and clear the darkness from within. It seemed so simple, a nice reprieve from here, just go in and clear out whatever monster had decided to live there but gods Quina, it was…" A deep sigh escaped his lips, "It was both further and closer than you could ever imagine, while only a couple weeks passed here, I was trapped there for months."

"Why didn't you leave? Send a message back? Just anything!"

"You think I didn't try?! I was stuck in that abominable hell hole until I cleared it! I tried to leave, so many times I tried to leave it behind me, but I simply couldn't. Every day I had to struggle to survive, crawl on bloodied hands and knees to safety, sleep in constantly alternating increments with the others so we wouldn't be killed in our sleep. Do you truly want to know the reason why I'm outside? Because I cannot sleep inside, I close my eyes and all I feel is the room encasing me, all I see is the nightmares of the Isle, all I hear and smell is the memory of those abominations that haunted every square inch of that hall. I close my eyes inside and I feel is instinct, pure fear telling me that I will die if I don't wake up. Outside, where I can hear the animals, feel the breeze across my body, and look up and see the moon. It's the only place I feel safe enough to sleep, and even then I can't forget."

"I'm…I'm so sorry. I was just thinking selfishly but you've done and suffered so much. I'll offer whatever I can to help, that Isle is behind you now and-"

"It's not just the Isle that plagues me, it's everything."

"What?" Quina tilted her head, everything? What else could compare to that apparently monstrosity of and island. "Well if it's something else, then we can work through that together."

"Quina, you don't understand. My burden is quite literally everything. Every person puts their faith in me, their problems, favors, questions, all come to me. I'm supposed to save this world from the dragon, but I was just a mediocre fishman and now I'm traveling the country, slaying beats and dealing with seemingly every problem in existence. The constant gaze of every single person I pass, all their expectations weighing upon me and the continuous belief that I'm an invulnerable paragon of good. I can't eat without feeling the everlasting gaze upon me, judging my every move, and that's not even my main purpose. On top of this, I have to the dragon. The beast that could end this country as we know it and I'm singlehandedly expected to slay it with my own two hands. The old and great arisen on Hillfigure Knoll couldn't even best the beast and now he's eternally damned to suffer until god knows what. What if I fail? What's my divine punishment? I had enough trouble sleeping before traveling to that island, and what little sleep I could get is now overruled by that hellscape." He sat there, twirling his helmet in his hands, toying with the cloth that canvased the back, the rest of the night was spent in silence.

* * *

Cryus woke up early the next morning, the same time everyday since he had begun this journey as the Arisen. He stretched and got an audible array of popping in return; the ground was rough as always but at least he felt comfortable. The soreness from sleeping on the ground having long since stopped from actually bothering him, it was barely even a background nuisance at this point. The forest itself was quite hideous if he was frank, though with a name like Wilted Forest, it was hardly a surprise. However, despite the dead trees, parched dirt, weeds barely clinging to life, and the undead and bandits that made themselves known on the outskirts, it was quite peaceful. One could faintly hear birds singing in the distance, the light breeze that rustling by, and the river calmly babbling not far from the Abbey all came together to form an oddly peaceful area despite the decay and death around them. He rested for a while longer before his thoughts once again began to drift to the river nearby, the Reverend Mother had told him of it when he'd announced his brief respite. It was apparently a very slow river and was commonly used by those of the Abbey for bathing, washing garments, and fishing.

It had been quite a while since he'd been able to relax while bathing and take a soak for as long as he pleased. The Isle had no such luxury, well there was water, plenty of it in fact, but he'd rather not bathe in the cursed water, so he resigned himself and his pawns to dousing themselves with buckets of water from the shore of the Isle to keep clean. He couldn't help to keep himself from chuckling when he remembered the conversation he had with Olvar about the bathing situation.

"_Let me get this straight, you want us to bathe with sea water gotten from the shore of a cursed isle? But bathe is too generous, you want us to dump a bucket of sea water over ourselves and call it good."_

"_Well when you say it like that, of course its going to sound awful. But please Olvar, don't let me stop you from finding a working bath in an ancient dungeon overfilled with monstrosities. I'm sure the Gutter of Misery would be a fine choice, though the Saurians are probably still a bit peeved about all the tail cutting we do." He smirked "Besides, we have to be presentable around our female company!"_

It was one of the only memories he had where he could remember Olra smiling, the tiniest upward curve of her lips, but it was a smile nonetheless. He made his way to the river and found a decent spot secluded away from prying eyes, a small bend further up the river, right at the waterfall. He undressed and began to wade into the hip waist water, he looked down and caught his reflection, souring the decent morning he'd had. He'd never been ashamed of his body, on the contrary he'd been proud of how fast his body had adjusted to the life of an adventurer and the trials he faced, but now his body was a macabre horror show. A medley of scars, wounds, burns, and bruises adorned his body, it looked like someone had repeatedly dragged a column of maces across his chest. He could barely recognize it as human himself, but it wasn't just his chest, almost the entirety of his body from neck to toe looked like a hastily made patchwork of human skin. He wished that he could brag about how he'd gotten these wounds and survived to be such a hero, but it would be nothing but a lie.

Cyrus settled into a little groove in the shore, leaning his head back to stare at the open blue sky. He'd managed to go through most of his journey without many near death experiences, those were few and far between, with only one serious encounter of note with a Wyvern at Bluemoon tower. It had been his first and he'd hoped, only personal experience with a wake stone, he'd been lucky enough that he had one on him at the time, and that his "death" was quick and painless. He'd revived the smithy's son using one, but he never thought he'd have to use one on himself, and after Bluemoon he'd hoped it would never be needed again, but how wrong he was. Bitterblack Isle had shown no kindness, no mercy, he'd died over and over again, rarely was it quick and painless. The beasts of the Isle were born with only one thought running through their mind… torment. Often times he'd lay bleeding out on the cold hard stone while his entrails spilled out from his stomach like an overflowing dam, or he'd die burning alive at the hands of a sorcerer, feeling and seeing his flesh melt off with the consistency of an egg yolk. If he was lucky then maybe the beast would simply push him over the edge at a great height, but there was nothing lucky about that isle. Wakestones revived the body, but they only did the bare minimum of healing, making sure he had no traumatic injuries, but the scars would never disappear, a constant reminder of his deaths. His deaths were more often than not, gruesome, agonizing, and disgustingly slow, his pawns fared no better, such as being crushed in hand by a cyclops but unfortunately still very much alive, or being ripped in half by an elder ogre, the slow and excruciating pain and the sickening sound of flesh, bone, and meat being torn apart and the meaty thump as the two bits of that living being now lay lifeless.

He'd often switch out the pawns he was using, not because they were poor companions, but because he feared for their sanity. Bitterblack Isle seemed to exist outside of the natural realm, and Cyrus knew that other worlds with Arisens existed as well, but he wasn't sure if Bitterblack Isle existed in those other worlds and if it did, if those Arisen had even been there at all. It wasn't need for those innocent pawns to be corrupted and have them suffer in that hell. He shook himself out of that stupor and started the process of washing himself, so absorbed in thought that he didn't hear the idle chatter coming his way. When he turned to head back to the shore, he was met with the mixed reactions of Quina and her friend. Her friend looked… nauseous, he couldn't blame her, he was nauseous himself the first few times he saw his body, and Quina… she looked… not disgusted or nauseous but…pitying?

He snarled, his thoughts harsh, 'I don't need her pity, I didn't suffer through the pain for her damned pity. I survived; I don't need your pity on my life.' Her friend hurried off, presumably to empty her stomach of the morning's breakfast, but Quina stayed with that same damned look, he broke their stare and got dressed, no longer caring about his patchwork body.

"You've changed." It was a ridiculously simple statement, idiotic, laughably moronic, of course he had and he couldn't help but laugh.

"Of course, did you think that I would ever be the same again after the dragon attack? When I was branded and fated for this duty? I was never going to be the same again after that day, I don't know why you're surprised."

"I'm not surprised, I knew you'd change, you would learn more about the world, you'd have experiences I could never imagine, you'd meet new people and different beliefs, but yet despite this you would still be you. But now more than before, there's something different, if anything I'm surprised that you've kept going despite it all."

He sighed and nodded, "I'm surprised myself. For all the talk about heroes putting themselves in harm's way and risking their lives and enduring the pain, it's a lot easier to talk and tell somebody that they should have these traits and that the gratitude and life saving is reward enough. It's entirely different when it's your own life is on the line, when the time finally comes for a hero to step forth and put their life at risk, well then suddenly everyone is a lot less eager to sprout their morals. Many times, I considered giving up, its selfish I know, and of course even mentioning it to someone will result in 'Oh but the struggle is what defines you, what makes you such a hero' or 'You're Arisen! You can't give up because of some measly challenge!'. Risking my life at the dragon, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time, I don't regret it and I suppose that's what makes me arisen, but it doesn't make the suffering any easier." He stopped his rambling and saw Quina staring intently, not as his chest, but his eyes, it was a determination so fierce it almost made him shiver.

"It must have been hard. I'm sorry I couldn't do more to help, but I was so enraptured with the legend of the Arisen that I got caught up in the same stories as everyone else. I guess I forgot that you were still just a poor fisherman from Cassardis," They chuckled together "and… I'm sorry. For all the suffering you've had to carry."

"Quina…I haven't told anyone about this, I suppose I haven't had the time or the will to, but I doubt I'll tell anyone after this anyway. The scars and wounds you see adorning my body like a poorly stitched quilt? I was never miraculous enough or strong enough to endure them and survive. I…I…I've…died, I've died so many times I can't keep count." He saw her tilt her head in confusion and then morph to horror as the pieces began to fit, "Wakestones are a miracle and a bane, I always carry over half a dozen on me at any given time. The first time I died was at Bluemoon tower, but I'd barely even consider it after all that's happened, I didn't even realize I had died until I woke up and realized that my pawns had killed the Wyvern already. It has been the only time I've died on the soil of my land, every other time after that, it happened in Bitterblack Isle, but I guess you'd already pieced that together." He took a breath before continuing.

"The first time that I knew I was dying, wasn't even that far into the isle. There was some…beastly cyclops prisoner, at least ten times the size of a regular one, it was bloody and ghastly, chained up like a prisoner. We must have accidently awakened it because the next thing I know, it broke free and grabbed this…massive spiked club and blindsided me. Almost all my bones were broken, I had a gapping wound in my side, I remember Olvar dragging me out of the room, but all I could think was 'This is finally it; this is how I die'. Turned out I had a couple wakestones in my satchel, but Gods, Quina I was so scarred. I didn't know what would happen, the feeling of encroaching death, knowing that you're going to die but powerless to do anything." He felt her slender arms wrap around him and he almost melted into them, the warmth was so…human. They stayed like that, Cyrus simply enjoying the feeling of being human, relishing in the joy of life.

"Did it ever get easier?" Her voice was soft and quiet, he was so enraptured in her embrace that he almost missed it. He was quiet for several moments as he thought of how to respond.

"No…not really. I got use to waking up in an unfamiliar area, I begun expecting dying on any trip I made into the Isle, but it never got easier, just routine. I could never get used to the pain, so unbearable, every time so different and vicious, I always feared that I forgot to bring a wakestone or that I'd lose them and… I was always scared during my lost moments, feeling my life slowly slip away like sand between my fingers. It can also be so…surreal." He pulled back and showed her a jagged scar that went around his entire neck. "Realizing you died, truly realizing it, is…an experience, but seeing it is something completely different. My helmet has healing properties, to constantly regenerate my health by a tiny amount every second of every day, and at some point, during one of the trips into the dungeon, I'd had two questions answered for me. A wakestone can completely revive someone as long as all parts of the person are in the right spot, regardless if they're actually attached. I was decapitated, and my helmet keep my conscious for a few seconds after it happened, just enough to see my limp body become skewered and thrown aside like a used doll. It's the only time I've been decapitated, but…it was not an uncommon occurrence for dismemberment and gore…" He trailed off, lost in thought, staring into the forest. "I'm just so scared, I don't want to die again. Please Quina, don't…don't let me die again, I don't care if I have a stone or not, I just…I don't want to die anymore. I'm so tired." Tears rolled down his face.

It's a scene that no one would imagine possible, the mighty Arisen a shaking and tearful mess being embraced and consoled by a fisherman's daughter turned sister of the faith. They would refuse to believe it, for if the hero who they put all their burdens on, who they place all their hopes and dreams on was crying and shaking, afraid of it all. What would they have to cling too? To them he is the might Arisen, who will guide them from the terror of the dragon, as all Arisens before him have done. He will always struggle and perseveres for he is the Arisen, and he will always succeed, but Cyrus? The poor fisherman from Cassardis who's naught but a regular boy who wants to be done with it all? What if in the end, there was a second path open to him to choose, would he take?

"I'm…I'm sorry Quina, I shouldn't let you see me so weak." He stammered, quickly wiping away the last traces with the back of his sleeve.

"Cyrus I'll support you no matter what path you take in the future, I'll support you no matter what because I know that no matter what, you'll make the right choice."

"I have something I want to give you, to remember me by because I don't know when I'll stop by next, the Duke is having me go to the great wall, and I'm not sure for how long I'll be gone. So, I want you to have this," He pulled out a ring from his satchel, it was simple but radiated such a power and elegance.

"What? The cost of such a gift, I-... Your kindness is too much to bear. Thank you, I love it. Truly."

"Hold onto it for me, I'll be back. I promise."


End file.
